Cheers
by whoneedsahero12
Summary: Tomione Christmas Prompt: "Tom & Hermione discuss something over butterbeer". Nonmagic AU of the gang in college. Slow build relationship between Hermione and Tom over the course of their 4 years there. Warnings: language, use of alcohol, implied sexual content.


Tomione Christmas Prompt

"Hermione and Tom are discussing something over butterbeer"

_**Cheers**_

Warning_: alcohol/drinking; sexual content; language_

**September, Freshman Year**

Hermione was sitting in the back of the Hogshead Bar with a stack of essays by John Locke when she heard the rusty doorbell ring. Instinctively, she shrank back into the bench she was sitting on, as if she could make herself invisible. The person, whoever it was, had expensive shoes that clacked along the wooden floor, and their umbrella gave a deep "thump" with every few steps. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will herself away from the tiny bar, hoping in vain that the all too familiar steps were not headed towards her.

With her eyes still closed, she could hear him sitting down his umbrella and sliding onto the bench across from her.

"Whatever it is you want to say – I don't want to hear it." She heard the rustle of his thick coat as he took it off and laid it on top of his umbrella.

"Too bad," Tom quipped back. She huffed and opened her eyes, glaring at him with all her might. He called out to the owner and barman, Aberforth, "Two butterbeers please!"

She crossed her arms. "I don't drink beer."

"There's barely any alcohol in these. It's like a liquid version of butterscotch candy." Meanwhile, Aberforth lumbered over and slammed the tankards on the table.

"Here ya go." Tom waited for Aberforth to wander back to the bar before he began speaking.

"I'm afraid you and I might have started off on the wrong foot."

"The wrong foot?" She scoffed before repeating herself. "The wrong foot?! You called me a stupid, good for nothing American who had no right to be here on the first day of class!" Hermione seethed.

"Yes, well, that as earlier this week before I found your exam scores. You nearly tested as well on your entry exams as I did."

"Nearly? Excuse you, I got a perfect score!"

"Yes, on your _American_ system."

"You know, it's really funny how anti-American you are considering how you're half red-white-and-blue yourself." His eyes became slits and he gripped the handle of his tankard. "That's right – I've been doing research on you too. Apparently, you grew up in Canada. Your accent is fake."

"False. I grew up in an English sponsored orphanage – my accent is real, darling."

"Regardless, you had no right or reason to say what you did."

"Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?"

"I might just let the whole school know that everyone's favorite freshman isn't the rich socialite he appears to be. I bet they'll love seeing your signature on financial aid and scholarship applications. Ooh! Not to mention your nonexistent bank account," she boasted. Surprisingly, he leaned back in his booth and smiled.

"See? I told you we got off on the wrong foot."

"Why is that?"

"Because we're both here to win, and I think we'll enjoy competing with each other." He lifted up his tankard and clinked it against hers. "Cheers!"

**December, Sophomore Year**

She was sitting at the bar of the Three Broomsticks waiting for Harry, Ronald, and Neville when Tom walked in. The tavern was crowded with only locals; it was now winter break and many of the students had gone home for the holidays. Being an American, Hermione had decided to stay in Scotland to save her family the cost of the airfare.

"Ugh, can't you take the hint? I'm trying to avoid you, dumbass," she griped as he took the barstool next to hers.

"Ouch – hello to you too, Hermione." To Rosmerta, he called out, "Butterbeer, please."

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you being mooching off Malfoy on his yacht in Greece right now?"

"I was going to, but I couldn't leave you here by yourself. You'd fall into despair without our verbal boxing – lord knows that your 'friends' aren't intellectually stimulating. Where is your gaggle of frat boys anyway?"

"They'll be here in a moment. You should leave while you can - they might try to make you have fun."

"Oh, the horror," he mocked.

Rosmerta sidled up to the counter and handed Tom his butterbeer. "There's that. Anything more for you, Hermione dear?"

"Another round of fire whiskies, please." Rosmerta nodded, taking away the empty shot glasses to refill them.

In disbelief, he commented, "I thought you said you didn't like alcohol."

"No, I said I don't like beer – there's a difference."

"Here you go Hermione," Rosmerta mused as she laid a tray with an intricate series of shot glasses. "Brought some for your friend too."

"He's not my friend," she clipped back, taking the first glass and downing the shot.

"I can attest to that. Hermione finds me intolerable." He reached over and grabbed a shot glass for himself, downing the drink and wrinkling his nose at the bite of it.

"I can't stand him," Hermione coughed after taking another shot. "He's a conceited, arrogant asshole

"Oh, like you're a joy to be with all the time. And you're just as conceited as I am," Tom retorted. "We will never be friends."

Rosmerta smiled to herself as she walked away to serve another customer, "_Fire whiskey will change that." _The pair were oblivious to her comment.

"I'll drink to that!" Hermione raised a glass and Tom did the same. "May we never be friends," they clinked glasses, "Cheers!"

By the time Harry, Ron, and Neville made it to the bar later that night, Hermione and Tom were teetering up on stage, sauced and dizzy, performing karaoke to Christmas carols for the locals.

"Bloody hell," Ron cussed when he saw them. Hermione was now wearing a Santa hat and her cheeks were flushed – and he shuddered at the fact that Riddle and Hermione's arms were wrapped around each other. It was quite the sight to see, considering that the two hated each other.

"Thank you everyone," Tom boomed into the microphone. "We've loved being here for you tonight – if you ever want to hear us again, buy us a round!" This caused a pandemonium of giggles and uproar from the group of elderly locals in the front row. And suddenly, Hermione was prancing towards them, dragging Tom behind her by the hand.

"Hi Harry! Hi Neville! Hi Ronald!" She went on tiptoed and kissed them all on the cheeks. Hermione nudged Tom in the gut behind her. "Say hello Thomas!"

"Hullo!" Tom chuckled.

"You missed our performance – we were soooo good!"

"Sounds like it," Harry told her in a placating tone.

Tom tapped her hat, trying to get her attention. "Ooh, you know what? We should start a band!"

"Yeah! We can be called SPEW!"

"I think the Knights _soundscool_," Tom slurred.

"Oh! Neville can play bass, Harry can play guitar, we can sing and play piano, and Ron can play the drums!"

"Bloody Brilliant," Ron huffed.

"That's it! That's _thename!" _ Tom gestured excitedly at Ron. "Brilliant!"

"This is gonna be _totally awesome!"_ she cheered. She and Tom high-fived and they performed an intricate handshake that suffered from their clumsy, drunken hands.

"Don't they normally not get along?" Neville asked Harry hesitantly. Harry shrugged.

"Normally. I guess the alcohol dug pass their anger and showed them their similarities."

"Great, now we'll have two know-it-alls telling us how to format our papers," Ron grumbled.

"In PPC format," Tom and Hermione yelled, "Point, Proof, Comment!"

"Let's get you two home, huh?" Harry said as he gently escorted the intoxicated classmates out of the bar. "You'll have more time to discuss being friends tomorrow."

"We're not friends," Tom started, and Hermione joined him in laughing, "We're best friends!"

** September, Junior Year**

Tom barged into Hermione's bedroom and pulled the sheets off of her. "Hermione, it's 9 AM. I can't let you sleep in anymore; we have class in half an hour, and Flitwick will have our heads if we miss today."

"I'm not going," she grumbled as she tried to curl into a little ball while fighting with Tom to regain the sheets.

"Well, you really shouldn't miss class unless you're near death," he scolded. He straightened his tie and looked around in utter disgust at how filthy her room was right now. Normally she was a very clean person – that was one of the reasons they got along as roommates. But as of present, it seemed a tornado had ransacked her room, with clothes all over the floor and books in an unorderly fashion (not even organized by color, Tom noted sadly).

"I am," she moaned, clutching her stomach.

"Well, you don't have a fever," he concluded after feeling her forehead. "Are you sure you're sick?"

"Yes!" She shouted before burying her head back into her pillow.

"No need to yell," he coughed. "What do you think you have? Do I need to take you to the clinic? Is it contagious?" He asked, backing away a little bit.

"Jesus Christ, Tom! I have my period, not the plague!" Tom paled slightly – not because of the thought of blood but because of the horrible amount of pain she must be going through.

"Sorry," he coughed again, "for my lack of knowledge on this . . . topic. It's one of those things that medical textbooks don't go in depth about." He coughed again, and he felt his chest rattle this time. "Is this going to be a regular occurrence?"

"Every freakin' month."

"Well, I know that some women take a form of birth control that decreases menstrual cycle frequency."

"Goody for them."

"Stop shouting, you're giving me a headache." He rubbed his sore, aching temples in frustration. "I'm going to class," he announced before sneezing rather loudly.

"It sounds like you're sick too."

"Impossible. It's just all the dust in your room," he paused to unsuccessfully stifle a sneeze.

"Uh-huh. Sure. Because I totally didn't wake up at 4 AM and hear you having a sneezing and coughing fit. You sounded like Ron's car when you try to start it in the morning."

"But I'm never sick," he huffed.

"Everybody gets sick, Tom. Even you, your highness."

"Well, I'm going to class." He bowed before trying to exit her room.

"No way, not until I feel your forehead." She summoned him over and felt his head. "You're warm."

"So?"

"So, that's weird for you. Normally you're frozen."

"_Let it go," _he mock-sang. "I've got to get to class."

"You keep saying that, but we both know that you're going to become a reclose, paranoid nutcase until you're better again."

Not really paying much attention to her because he was consumed by the acknowledgment of his illness, he muttered, "Maybe I should go check ."

"My point exactly."

"Will you email Professor Flitwick for me? I'm going to make a run down to the drugstore - I refuse to be sick."

"Already emailed him."

"When did you do that?"

"This morning when I heard you hacking out your lungs."

"This is why you're my favorite."

"Abraxas can eat my dust. Oh, and could you get me Motrin and pads?"

He sighed in resolution. "What kind do you need?"

"Super-absorbant Kotex. Please?"

"I'll get you mint chocolate too."

"You're the best, thank you!"

"I wish I was dating you," the cashier girl sighed in a dreamy manner as she batted her eyelashes.

"What?" Tom's eyes and ears snapped to attention. He had been reading an article in the Daily Prophet while the woman bagged his items.

"My boyfriend never buys me chocolate, let alone pads. He won't even go into the store with me." He mumbled noiselessly, trying to tune out the clerk. "You must be real serious if you're doing that for her. How long have you been dating?"

"I am not dating Hermione. We just live together."

"Sounds pretty serious to me," the clerk suggested while raising one of her drawn-on eyebrows.

"Oh, fuck off." He tried to sound vicious but it came out as congested and nasally. He flicked her off before grabbing his bags and marching out of the store.

"Invite me to the wedding!" The clerk called after him.

"You're hogging the laptop."

"It's in the middle." Hermione gestured to the laptop awkwardly balanced on the edges of their thighs.

"I told you we should have put on the coffee table," Tom coughed.

"Yeah, but then I can't see. Besides, our 'coffee table' is a moving box covered in a one of my bed linens that is covered in bottles of cough syrup." Tom repositioned the laptop so it primarily sat on his lap.

"Now you're hogging it."

"Ugh, fine." He paused the show and put the laptop on the floor. He moved from a sitting positioning to a reclining position that allowed him to stretch out his legs. He tugged Hermione's cocoon of blankets down so that it lay somewhat on top of him before placing the laptop on her lap. She was a little startled but glad to have the extra pressure from his arm wrapped around her stomach.

They soon fell asleep, and they didn't wake up until Abraxas made a clamber in the kitchen.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Tom whisper-yelled across the room.

"Oh, I was trying to find a mop to wipe away the sappiness of this situation."

"Shush! Don't wake her up – she'll be like a bear if you do."

"Ah-ha!" Abraxas cheered. "Found it!" He held the item up in his hands and Tom groaned. Malfoy had disturbed his slumber all for the sake of a bag of Twizzlers. "Being roommates with an American is the best decision you've ever made –besides being friends with me." The blonde rushed back to the couch and pulled over one of the desk chairs so that he sat behind Tom. "I can't believe she's got you watching 'West Wing" he tutted.

"We finished 'House of Cards' already, so this seemed like the next best thing to binge."

"Oh! Have you gotten to the part where-" Tom cut him off.

"Don't tell me! We're still on one of the earlier episodes of the first season."

"God, I love these things," Malfoy salivated over the licorice candy. "Pity they don't sell them here, eh?" Suddenly, one of Hermione's eyes was open and glaring at him. "Oh, hello pet! Sorry about Mother Nature visiting and all. I just popped over to give you the notes and to eat your American food." Her only response was to point to the door. "Yeah, I made sure to lock the door."

"Uh, Ab, I think she wants you to leave."

"Nonsense, she loves me!" This time she opened both of her eyes, but immediately narrowed them into slits as she scowled at him.

"I'm going to count to three. If you aren't out of my sight by then, I'll leak your fraternity's activities to the press. I'm sure they'd love to finally discover who left the anaconda in the girls' bathroom in the economics building." Abraxas paled at this. "One…"

"Oh shit."

"Better run," Tom warned him.

"Two…"

"I'll just come back later, huh?" Malfoy suggested as he eased out of his chair, still clutching the bag.

"Thr…" But Hermione never finished the word because the blonde had bolted out of the room. She smiled to herself and settled back into Tom.

"And they think I'm scary."

"M'hm," she mumbled. He ran a hand over her hair and contained a proud grin.

**December, Senior Year**

"Ugh," Tom moaned as he stumbled into the kitchen, bracing himself against the sunlight streaming in through the window. "Turn the lights off, will you?"

Hermione, still groggy herself, sat at her table, cradling a cup of coffee. "The sun doesn't 'turn off'."

"Well, at least closed the damned blinds." When he squinted over he saw she hadn't moved, and stumbled over to the window to close them himself. Tom grabbed his mug from the cabinet and poured himself a cup of coffee before sitting across from her at the table.

"Hangovers are the worst," Tom finally voiced after downing most of his coffee. She nodded her head but didn't look up from her still full cup of coffee. He was trying to warm her up with pleasantries, but she wasn't taking the bait. He switched his line of questioning to be more direct. "So . . . are we going to talk about what happened last night?"

"Nope." Hermione took a meager sip of her drink. "One time thing. We were both drunk."

"So you're saying that you _wouldn't _want it to happen again? Because your sentiments last night were very different." He pulled the collar of his Henley shirt away from his neck and collarbone to expose a trail of red hickeys and bite marks.

"Jesus!" Her eyes widen in shock. "Did I . . ." He nodded his head and laughed as she buried her head in his hands.

"It's ok, I returned the favor. You're going to have to avoid wearing short skirts for a while."

"Oh god," she groaned in embarrassment. "Now everything's going to be awkward with us – not to mention we violated the roommate agreement."

"Eh," Tom shrugged before pulling off his shirt, "it was bound to happen." He started to head to the bathroom, but Hermione got up from her seat.

"What do you mean 'bound to happen'?"

He furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance. "Don't play stupid. We're both aware of the overwhelming amount of sexual tension and chemistry between us."

"But . . ." she started trying to speak but couldn't find the words.

"I get it," he clipped coolly in an effort to conceal the hurt he felt (would it really be so terrible to be romantically associated with him?) "I feel the same way," he lied. "Now if you excuse me, I'm going to go take a shower."

She walked him walk off and felt the prickling sensation of regret wash over her. Hermione made her way back to the breakfast table where she sat, head in her hands, repeating "shit" every half minute or so until she felt herself grow hoarse.

It wasn't that she didn't like him; she very much did, physically, platonically, and romantically. The problem was over the inconvenience of the whole thing.

For nearly a year and a half, they had been intense rivals. And suddenly, without them realizing it, they had become friends. The truth of the matter was that this had been building long before the infamous karaoke disaster at the Three Broomsticks. And being friends with him had been (is? Are they still friends? She mused) wonderful.

It was so different from being friends with Harry and Ron, or Luna and Neville, or even Ginny – with them, she was one type of person: the mother figure, the teacher, the supporter, the nagger, the bragger, the nurse, the counselor, the confidant. But with Tom she was able to be all of those things and more at once. They could go from seriously discussing the application of Salazar Slytherin's code to laughing over stupid vines to going crazy with a bottle of tequila after a major test.

And the romantic feelings had always been there, but she had suppressed them for as long as she could. She valued their friendship too much and was scared of losing the only person she was truly herself with.

In the bathroom, Tom was going through a similar chain of agonizing thoughts, still wondering if he had kissed her first or vice versa. He was so deep in thought that he hadn't noticed how hot the water had become. With the piping hot water stabbing his back, he arched away, only to find he had angered more sensitive hickeys.

If he had kissed her first, he was clearly an idiot. Why would he complicate what they already had?

But if she had kissed him first . . . well, that would at least console him. They had always been flirtatious and overly affectionate under the influences of alcohol, and their true feelings had consistently tried to slip out of clumsy, drunken tongues. If she had kissed him first, it would be an indicator that she felt the same way. And while the aggressive activities from last night further proved this point, her behavior this morning was not that of love or lust but of shame and embarrassment. Tom, more than anything, was concerned that he liked her more than she liked him.

Either way, the obvious answer for right now was to avoid any further thought about the situation and to turn the damn water onto a colder setting.

Their interactions from this moment forward were quiet. They still studied and watched ridiculous TV shows together, but the movements were all self-conscious and achingly tense. Tom would hand her the newspaper in the morning and had to physically force himself to make sure his hand didn't touch hers. When they watched cheesy holiday films, both their feet propped up on their makeshift coffee table, Hermione consciously kept her bouncing feet far away from Tom's woolen ones. It was all very awkward.

Additionally, it seemed to be an unspoken agreement that neither one of them would be drinking for a while – so when they received invitations to go out, they declined and stayed in – making it all the more difficult to find the old balance they had so easily once had.

The first thing Hermione did when she got the email was to call Tom. "Hi. Tom?"

"Hermione. Have you heard back?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"I got in."

"That's fantastic!"

"Uh'huh, I know," she felt her eyes beginning to well up. "I can't believe it!"

"I can. I'm positive that yours was the best application they saw, darling." She blushed at his pet name for her. "We should go out and celebrate with everyone tonight."

"Alright. Where?"

"I'll call ahead at the Hogshead. That way we can be as rowdy as we want."

"Ok. I'll text our friends and make sure they know. What time will work? Seven-thirty?"

"Sure."

"See you then."

"Yeah. Oh! And Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I'm proud of you." She smiled.

"Thanks."

"Alright. See you soon."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Later that evening, the gang was a buzz in the dusty bar. Aberforth had allowed them to regroup the circular tables into one, long table.

"Everyone!" Tom stood up to call their friends to attention. "I have an announcement!" The young adults became quiet. "Hermione?" She blushed but stood up.

"I was accepted to Harvard Law School." The room erupted in a series of whoops and cheers.

"Harry's got news too!" Ginny shouted from the farther end. She poked Harry until he stood.

"I'm going to study journalism at Columbia." More happy cries rose.

"Tommy!" Bellatrix bellowed from across the table. "Tell her!" Tom's face grew stern and flushed.

"Yeah, tell her!" Soon, more and more chants began. "Tell her!"

"Tell who what?" Hermione asked. Tom turned to face her.

"I got into Harvard Business."

"Tom! That's brilliant!" She leapt up to wrap her arms around his next and kiss him. She didn't even have to think; just did it on instinct. There were catcalls and whoops of joy. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to surprise you."

"That's not you needed to tell her," Bellatrix chided.

"It's okay," Hermione winked at Bella, "I already knew what else there was." And he bent down and kissed her again. It was unspoken but understood: they loved each other.

"To love and friendship," Abraxas called out, raising his mug. "Cheers!"

"Cheers!"


End file.
